Winter's Mark
by failingforward
Summary: Castiel finds Dean drunk and depressed on Christmas Eve 1999. He drives him home, and involuntarily steps into the crazy, beautiful, broken world of Dean Winchester: A man who thinks the world of Cas and nothing of himself.
1. December twenty-second, 1994

It's cold.

Freezing, actually.

The 1967 Chevrolet impala speeds down the snowy highway, regardless of the speed limit. Even though it's mid-afternoon, the driving conditions are miserable. All you can see is white. Snow coming in from every angle, slamming itself against the glass of the windows and the battered doors of the car. You can hear the wind rushing over the metal roof, threatening to tear it off. It sounds like somebody screaming.

It would be nice if we could blame it on the weather.

Inside the impala there's a family, if you could call it that. An eleven year old and a four year old sit in the back seat, the former leaning his head against the window, the latter playing with a miniature car. A boy just a month shy of sixteen sits shotgun, arguing with a man who looks older than he really is. Their voices are lowered, trying to keep the harder truths from the innocent.

"Dad," The boy whispers. "We can't keep doing this. It's not right."

"Last time I checked Dean, I was in charge, not you."

The teenager, Dean, runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just-" He turns around looking at the kids in the back seat. "Adam and Sammy deserve a normal life."

"Dean, there's no such thing as a normal life."

"Stop saying that. You're only saying that because you can't have one."

"I'm saying it because it's true."

"It's not true! You think you can drag your kids around the country because of something you did? Adam isn't on the run from the law! Sam didn't murder an innocent man!"

The man's back goes rigid and his arms stiffen.

"He wasn't innocent," He whispers slowly. "He killed your mother."

"Mom died in a fire dad! You need to let her go. If you had done that before we wouldn't be in this mess."

"You didn't even know her Dean."

"What about Kate? We settled down for two years and then packed up and left as soon as you two had a falling out! You never think of anyone but yourself!"

"You're so selfish!" They are shouting now. "What have you ever done for this family Dean? All you ever do is fuck things up. You're useless and that's all you'll ever be!"

Sam closes his eyes and tries to drive his head farther into the window pane. Adam covers his ears. Dean stares straight ahead. The man shouts. He screams. Adam cries.

The truck hits the left side of the vehicle.

John Winchester died instantly.

The ambulance came at some point, but no one noticed. They were all unconscious.

The snow had something to do with it, but Dean knew what had really happened. The truck couldn't see them, but John could've swerved. It was the argument, the fight. It was his fault.

The nurse talked to Dean about the medical problems, seeing as he was the legal guardian, at least for the moment. Dean broke his arm. Sam broke a couple ribs and got a concussion. But Adam was the worst.

"He's in a coma," She breathed, her voice soft. "I'm sorry, sir, but there's not much we can do for him. He took a large blow to the head, and someone that young isn't meant to take that much force."

Dean nodded. He wasn't really listening. They weren't in a hospital. They were on the highway again, driving to Uncle Bobby's for Christmas. Adam was okay, how could he be dying? He was only four. Dad was fine, too. Dad wasn't dead. It was just a dream. A nightmare. The worst nightmare anyone could have.

Except it wasn't a dream.

It's December twenty-fifth now. Christmas. It's at Bobby's house, just like they'd planned. Sam is sleeping. Bobby's sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Dean's locked in the bathroom, screaming. It's loud, but it doesn't last long.

"I'm sorry!" He cries. "Oh god, I'm so sorry Adam!"

His hands are on the sink, and he looks up at the mirror. And he says it again: 'I'm sorry,'. But nothing happens. Adam's gone. John is gone. Sammy doesn't have a father.

"It's my fault," he whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He grabs the edges of the mirror and he stares at his reflection. 'You killed Adam.' It whispers. 'You murdered him.'

Dean forces his face onto the glass. 'One,' he thinks 'two, three, four.' Over and over again, his face hits the glass. It hurts, but it feels good. It feels amazing. And eventually, he's on the floor. Not dead, not yet. But he feels like dying.


	2. December twenty-fourth, 1999

Cas didn't plan to be driving around the poorest part of town on Christmas Eve inside a rental car with broken heating and half a litre of gas in the tank anymore than he planned on being named Castiel Novak. Things like that just happen, but thank god they do.

He was supposed to be driving to his apartment in Roseburg, Oregon. He'd lived in Roseburg his whole life. It was quiet. Cas liked the quiet, watching the bees collect honey and walking through the park as the leaves changed colour. He was the kind of person who liked an adventure now an then, but usually kept to himself.

A brief biography of Castiel:

He was born April twentieth, 1979. His dad left when he was a kid, too young to remember him. He had a pretty normal childhood, save for a few stunts he pulled with friends. He moved out when he was eighteen, and two months later his mother was diagnosed with stage three lung cancer. She didn't make it. He went to the funeral, then went to college and ended up working the graveyard shift at a coffee shop about a mile away from the worst neighbourhood in the city. On Christmas Eve he decided to take a shortcut and ended up lost in the maze of rundown houses and graffiti.

And so at one AM on December twenty-fifth, 1999, Castiel Novak almost ran over a very drunk, very angry Dean Winchester who just happened to be lost as well.

"Oh my god!" Cas screamed, slamming on the brakes. He jumped out of the car and ran to the front, his car still running, lights still on. A man lay on the ground, trying to stand up. He succeeded after several tries and massaged his temples. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay." Cas was surprised, but relaxed, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the car. "I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"I wasn't finished." The man sounded tired, but their was a thick layer of sarcasm on his voice. "I just got hit by a car. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

He lowered his hand and looked up, and Cas saw his face. It was tired. He looked terrible. He had circles under his eyes and his cheeks were flushed. His face was wet, his hair dishevelled. He'd been crying, but you couldn't tell from his expression. He was ready to take on the world, or at least he looked that way.

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

The man smirked looked Cas up and down. "I better go. Sorry I got in the way of your car."

He started to stagger away, but Cas called out after him.

"Wait!" It was obvious he'd been drinking, and Castiel wasn't going to let him wander off to get hit by another car. "I'll give you a ride!"

The man stopped, then turned around and said 'Okay.' He ambled towards Cas's car and got in the passenger seat. Cas walked around and sat down in the drivers seat of the still running vehicle and turned to his unlikely cargo.

"What's your name?"

"Like you actually care."

"Tell me."

"No."

"I'm not driving until you tell me."

"Fine." He moved to get out and Cas reached out to him.

"Please."

He paused, then glared at Cas and answered.

"Fine. It's Dean."

"Dean." Castiel rolled the name around in his mind. He liked it. "I'm Castiel."

"What kind of a name is that?"

"I don't know. I didn't name myself."

"Ask your parents then."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"They're dead."

"Oh."

Dean stared ahead at the street lamps and leaned his head against the window.

"270 Brimming street." He whispered.

It was okay for a while. Dean stared, Cas drove. Then, at a stop sign ten minutes to their destination, Dean started slamming his head into the dash board. Hard.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing?" Cas yelled.

Dean sat up and looked at his hands. Then he started crying.

"Holy shit. Oh my god, I fucked up, I fucked up. Shit, I really fucked up this time. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Castiel watched. There wasn't much he could do. Then dean started slamming his head again. He seemed to have forgotten that Cas was there. Castiel reached out and stopped Dean's head from hitting the dash board, then pulled him closer. "What's wrong?"

"Everything."

"Tell me."

"I don't talk to people."

"Really?"

"Just not about myself. Nobody wants to hear that shit."

"I'll tell you about me then. But after you have to promise to talk."

"I'll talk."

Dean was drunk. There was no denying it. But he listened well. Cas told him about pretty much everything, starting from year zero. It wasn't to long though, so it was only a few moments before he got to the end.

"They say it was cigarettes that took her." He said. "What a lame excuse. Cigarettes can kill your lungs, but you can't blame someone dying on a lousy pack of smokes. And when I left, the minister told me she was in heaven. What a load of shit. I never really liked the concept of heaven. It's something to hold over someone's head to get them to believe what you believe."

"I don't believe in any god." Dean whispered. "People love the idea that someone is going to save them. There's no one watching over us. We're alone."

Cas thought about that for the rest if the drive. We believe in a god because we want to be saved. The thought haunted him, maybe because he believed it, or maybe because it wasn't even the least but true. It didn't matter though. Dean talked about his brother, and about work (he balanced a lot of jobs to keep his head above water, but he was mainly an auto-mechanic) but not much else. Cas wished he could ask about more, but it felt wrong. Invasive, somehow.

"I want to be better," Dean finished. "It's pathetic and it's never gonna happen, but I still dream about it. Living in a nicer house and having a good job where I actually help people. Make lives better." He looked down, embarrassed. "I talk too much. Sorry."

They arrived at 270 Brimming street at precisely 1:19 AM. It was a two story house with a tiny yard and chipped paint. The windows were intact, though, which was a step up from some of the other houses in the neighbourhood.

As they pulled into the driveway and Dean crawled out of the car, Cas leaned out the window an yelled something.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How did someone like you end up like this?"

Dean stood there for a second, thinking. He looked up with a smirk.

"I had a shit dad!" He yelled, and then went inside, leaving Castiel alone on the driveway.


	3. December thirty-first, 1999

Castiel didn't go to parties. He just wasn't interested in that sort of thing.

He'd told Gabriel that he didn't want to go out, that he was fine with watching the ball drop on his small TV. But then again, Gabe wasn't really the listening sort. He had gone on a whim telling Cas about the amazing party he was going to, and how it was the beginning of a century, and how anybody who was anybody was going. And somehow, he convinced Cas to say yes.

The party was at someone's house - Cas didn't know the host - and it wasn't as boring as he thought it was going to be. There were thirty or so people there, and all of them were dressed casually. Some drank champaign and chatted, others crowded around the television that was showing a view of Times Square. It was quiet, laid back, the kind of thing Cas was used to. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Most of the people were in their twenties- no one there seemed to be over thirty-five. As the night dragged on, they had dinner, which consisted of several pizzas. Gabriel introduced him to most of the people there, who mostly went to their college

"This is my roommate Cas," he would say. "Cas, this is Hannah. She's in sociology with me."

The guys would shake his hand, and so would most of the women. There was always the occasional flirt, but Cas had learned how to shut them down quickly. They just weren't his type.

Cas stuck with Gabe for most of the party, but two minutes to midnight he found himself stuck between to college freshmen on the ratty couch in the living room. The reporter on the TV was saying something to the host, who laughed along with the celebrities beside him. And then Cas thought of Dean, and wondered where he was. Was he with his brother? Was he in that broken down house? Or was he out drunk again, lost in the maze of streets he called home? What was so special about Dean anyway?

Castiel shook his head. Dean was just another person. He should just forget about him. Yeah. Forgot he ever existed.

The countdown started on the TV, and people joined in with the hosts. _'Ten, nine, eight,' _

Cas looked around. There was Gabe and his girl, chanting along with the rest of them. _'Seven, six, five, four,'_

There was Hannah, and to the left of the room was Michael, everybody with someone else on their arm. Cas stood up. '_Three,'_

He walked to the edge of the room and stood against the wall. '_Two,_'

He could smell the anticipation, everyone waiting for a new start. '_One,'_

And then they were laughing, smiling, everyone shouting Happy New Year's to each other. And then the kissing started. Everyone leaning in to the person beside them, their girlfriends, boyfriends, fiancées, and Cas felt alone.

He turned to his left, and he locked eyes with Dean.

Everything went quiet. Cas developed tunnel vision: all he saw was Dean. He watched him, saw his face change. From laughter to surprise to panic. They didn't stop staring. Eye contact was all that mattered. He heard one of Dean's friends shout 'Bro, what's wrong?' and Dean seemed to snap out of the stupor. He pushed his friends' hand away and ran outside.

So Castiel followed him. Out the back door, into the backyard, through the gate, into the park, behind a dumpster. There he was, head in his hands.

"Hello Dean."

"You think," Dean replied. "It's okay to follow me out here?"

"It's a free country."

"Not really. Freedom is an illusion."

"Well I followed you and here I am. There's not much you can do about it."

Dean laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "You don't really get it, do you?"

"Dean. Why'd you run out here?"

"Because. I saw you."

"So you ran?"

"Look, I just can't talk to you right now."

"Why not?"

"I'm just not in the mood."

"Stop it Dean."

"Not now Castiel."

"What's with you?"

"Nothing. Just don't talk to me."

"Dean. What's wrong?"

"Go home Castiel! Just leave me alone! Go home!"

"Dean-"

"Go away! Don't get involved with me. Just go home Cas, go home!"

Castiel looked up at Dean, who was a few inches taller than him. He had no reason to freak out on him like that. Dean had no right to say that. He didn't deserve to be talked to like that.

"Fuck you."

That was all he said, but it was enough. He walked away, and he heard Dean kick the dumpster, then sit down. He kept walking. Dean didn't have time for him, so he didn't have time for dean.


	4. January fifth, 2000

The phone rang at twelve forty-two PM on a Saturday, about a week after New Years. Cas picked up after the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Dean."

Castiel froze. He inhaled, and held his breath.

"Dean."

"Yeah. I-I'm really sorry about New Years."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"I was a jerk."

"You were."

"I had no right to say that shit."

"You didn't."

"I didn't mean any of it."

Silence.

"Do-do you think we could, you know, talk about it? Today? Like, now?'

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"Why would I talk to you?"

"You shouldn't. Look, I'll leave you an address. Just come. I'll know if you don't."

"Okay."

"The park. Right half, near all the trees. The second last park bench."

"That's a lot to remember."

"You don't have to come," He paused. "But if you did I'd-"

Castiel hung up. He walked to the living room and sat down. He turned on the TV. He turned it off. He stood up.

It was cold out, but it was beautiful. It was snowing lightly, and the white clung to the trees and sidewalks. The park was covered in it. Ice and snow. That was all you could see.

Castiel walked. He didn't have a car; not enough money. He'd rented one for Christmas weekend, but that contract had only lasted three days. He didn't mind walking, though. The fresh air cleared his head.

He stared at his feet for most of the walk. He knew the way, and he preferred not to talk to people. So it was a surprise when he almost walked into Dean.

"You need to stop running into me," he said. "Literally."

Cas couldn't help it. He smiled. It didn't last long though.

"First of all, you were an asshole." Cas stated. "Second of all, I was way too sensitive. You're allowed to have space. I hardly even know you anyway."

Dean nodded. He was looking at the ground.

"Thirdly, how the hell did you get my number?"

"Ever heard of a phone book Castiel?" Dean said, grinning. "Gabriel gave it to me."

"That bitch."

Dean laughed now. It sounded nice. Full. Happy. 'Shut up. Don't be stupid.' He thought.

"Do you want to get coffee?" Dean asked.

"You're buying."

It was pretty quiet. No one spoke. Just the soft footfall and the crunch of the snow under their boots. So quiet you could almost hear the snow hit the ground.

The coffee stand was deserted, and a bearded man sat at the counter, asleep. Dean cleared his throat. The man sat up. Cas had one cream two sugar, and Dean drank it black. The walk back was the same, if not warmer. The coffee warmed their hands.

"So, are we friends?"

"Why did you run Dean?"

"I saw you."

"What do you mean?"

"You saw me drunk on Christmas Eve. I was a mess. That's a different Dean than those people know."

"I'm confused."

"Don't worry about it."

"You want to be friends?"

"Well, I guess."

"You guess?"

"It's complicated. It doesn't make sense." He exhaled, his breath making a cold, white cloud. "Like I said before; don't worry about it."

Cas looked up at the trees. Icicles hung from the branches, and he saw his reflection in them. It was odd and distorted, a different Castiel.

"Dean, how many different versions of you are there?"

"I don't know, about ten. Why?"

"Which one did I meet?"

Dean thought a second. "The real one." He admitted.

There was silence for a while. They walked, and it was a nice silence. There was no one else but them.

"Hey Cas?"

"Yeah?"

"You said before that you hardly knew me."

"I guess I did."

"Do you want to know me?"

"Yes."

"Come with me."

Dean led Cas through the park, heading for the street. A car was parked at the curb, covered in a thin layer of snow. Dean rushed over and brushed it off, whispering something to it. This guy had problems.

"Castiel, this is my baby." He said.

"It's a car."

"Not just any car," He sat on the hood, gesturing to the vehicle. "This, my friend, is a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. This car has been through a lot, but I always manage to fix her up real good."

"What's that?" Cas pointed to a dent that stretched from the drivers door to the back. It was old, and it had been mostly fixed, but the scar from the damage remained.

Dean tensed. "Nothing." He said. "Come on Castiel. I'm going to introduce you to the family."

Cas finished his coffee and put the cup in the holder behind the stick shift. Cas drove automatic, and he'd never been inside a standard car. It was surprisingly similar.

The drive was nice. It snowed some more. Dean talked. Cas listened to the sound of his voice.

They rolled up the driveway and dean parked the car. Cas got out, and he was led up a set of stairs to a door. Dean fumbled with a set of keys and opened the door.

"Sammy, I'm home!"

"It's Sam. And you don't need to shout. I'm right here."

"Whatever. Castiel, this is my brother Sam. Sam, this is Cas."

Castiel walked inside and came face-to-chest with a giant. Sam Winchester was about as tall as his brother, give or take a few inches. He also had long hair, which made him kind of terrifying despite what you might think.

"Kids' just had a huge growth spurt. Fore I know it he'll be taller than me."

"Whatever. I need to study Dean."

"Then do it upstairs. Cas and I are going to watch a movie."

"We are?"

"Yes, we are. No go do your smart boy school work Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes and went upstairs. Dean gazed after him fondly.

"He's really smart. I'm trying to save up some money so he can get into a good school. I don't know if I'll be able to make enough though." He sighed. "He might need to scrape up a scholarship."

"I thought I was going to meet your family."

"You did. Sammy's all there is left."

They watched T2 on the couch, occasionally talking- Dean pointing out the flaws in the plot, Cas laughing at his surprisingly accurate accusations. When it was over, Dean leaned over and whispered something into Cas's ear.

"I think I like you. A lot."

Cas blushed. "Well good. I thought I was the only one."

Dean was surprised. He leaned back and looked away.

"I'll call you," Cas said.

He left, and he walked home, thinking about Dean, wishing he was beside Dean, and wondering if Dean really did like him, or if it was just a lie.


	5. January eighth, 2000

Castiel didn't call Dean. What could he say? The truth was, they hardly knew anything about each other. He felt bad for holding back on his promise, but on the other hand, Dean didn't call either.

Until Tuesday.

"What's wrong with you?"

"What?"

"Cas, you said you would call."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I figured. Anyway, since you have no idea how to ask a man out, I will show you." He cleared his throat. "Hello Castiel. I was wondering if you would like to redo Saturday with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You come over to my house and we sit on the couch and watch movies together until one of us falls asleep in the others arms."

"Okay, but meet me at my place first."

"Whatever you say, Cas."

And Castiel smiled, relieved, because he didn't need to worry about calling Dean anymore. Talking to him was easy.

Dean came over to Castiel's apartment five-point-seven minutes late, because he had got caught in traffic. Cas had been ready two hours before Dean was supposed to arrive, so he timed it to the second when he didn't.

The buzzer rang and Cas didn't even pick up the phone; he just pressed the seven key and let Dean up. The door rattled and he answered it, his heart going a mile a minute.

"Hey," he said breathlessly.

Dean smirked. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Castiel blushed and he mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Dean asked.

"I'm perfectly fine handsome." Cas whispered.

Dean smiled.

"Where are we going Castiel?"

"You'll see."

Cas lead Dean outside, and Dean started the impala. Cas was about to sit shotgun, when Dean gestured to the drivers seat.

"Are you not going to drive me to your mysterious location?"

"I thought I could give you directions."

"Whatever you say, Castiel. I sure as hell don't mind being your chauffeur."

Cas laughed, and he caught Dean staring at him.

"What are you looking at?"

Dean just smiled. "Nothing."

"You're happy today."

"Maybe it's cause I'm with you."

"That's impossible."

"It is very possible."

"Dean, I'm not exactly the best person in the world."

"No Cas, you're more angel than human."

"Dean-"

"No protesting. I don't want to hear it. All I want to think about is how wonderful Castiel Novak is and how glad I am to be beside him right now."

"Like I said, you are really happy today."

"And I think that's a good thing, don't you?"

"I think it's the best thing in the world."

Cas gave Dean precise directions that led them to a deserted pond. Street lamps gleamed overhead, casting shadows on the ice. An old brick building stood to one side of the pond.

"Why are we here."

"I have it on good authority that you, Dean Winchester, do not know how to skate."

"Uh huh. And who's authority is that?"

"Someone's."

"Sam told you."

"Maybe."

"God, that kids going to be the death of me someday."

"C'mon, he's not so bad."

"As far as sixteen year olds go, yes. He's never done drugs or gotten arrested. But he can be a pain in the ass."

Cas laughed. "Whatever. But I am going to teach you how to skate if its the last thing I do."

"I don't have skates."

Cas held up a pair of black hockey skates in Dean's size.

"Where did you get those."

"No where."

"I don't play hockey."

"Duh. You don't skate."

Dean stuck his tongue out at Castiel and walked over to a bench to put on the skates. He tried to tie them a couple times, then through his hands up in the air.

"I can't do it."

"Do what?"

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what?"

"I can't put the skates on okay?!"

"Cas laughed. "You really can't do them up?"

"Shut up." Dean frowned. "Yes."

"Okay," Cas said, still smiling. "I'll have to tie them for you."

He leaned over and grabbed the laces. He pulled them tight, then crossed them over once, twice. Dean grunted and winced.

"What's wrong?"

"That's tight."

"Don't be such a baby." But Cas smiled, and he loosened them anyway.

"Dean," Cas said as he moved on to the next skate. "How come you don't know how to skate?"

"I never learned."

"Why didn't someone teach you?"

"Cas, when I was a kid, we didn't have time for that. We were always on the road and my dad was constantly working. I had to take care of my brothers. There was just never an opportunity."

"Brothers? I thought there was only Sam and you."

"It is just Sam and me. Sorry. I don't know, I meant brother."

"Well that doesn't matter now Dean, because I am going to teach you how to skate, whether you like it or not."

He grabbed Dean's hand and helped him up, and Dean slipped and fell into Cas's arms. It was quite awkward, seeing as Dean was a a few inches taller than Cas, and Cas almost slipped as well. Dean apologized and tried to walk to the ice. He failed miserably, staggering towards the pond and slipping every two steps.

Cas smiled. He pulled on his skates and made to join Dean on the ice, who's jeans were now covered in powdered snow from falling all over himself. He slipped again, and Cas laughed silently to himself as a string of curse words protruded from His mouth.

"Shut up." Dean said, but he smiled.

"Do you need some help?"

The smile disappeared. "No."

He moved three feet and fell on his ass.

"Yes." He concluded.

Castiel walked over and helped him up.

"I'm going to hold your waist, okay?" he put his hands around Dean's hips and held him upright. He could feel Dean's body freeze. "I'm sorry. Should I-"

"No Cas. It's fine. It's okay. Do it again."

So Cas put his hands on Dean's hip bones. He felt Dean tense and relax again. He supported a little of Dean's weight and lectured Dean some more.

"Now I want you to move your right foot out, then your left foot. Okay?"

"I know, I know."

"You've never skated before."

"So what?"

"I'm teaching you. Listen to the teacher."

Dean grunted, and Cas smiled. Dean followed Cas's instructions, and he skated. Sure, he was being held from behind and they were travelling at zero miles per hour, but he was skating.

"Now listen Dean. I'm going to let go."

"Don't. Seriously Castiel. Don't."

"Listen. I'm going to come around and hold your hand okay?"

Dean thought for a second. "Fine."

So they held hands. Castiel felt a jolt of electricity run up his arm when Dean grasped it. He wasn't sure if it was real or jut his imagination, but it sure felt good.

After an hour and a half, Dean could skate on his own, badly. They went to a restaurant talked, only ordering coffee. Cas payed while Dean was in the washroom because he knew Dean couldn't afford it, and that Dean would want to pay.

Dean drove Cas home, and when Cas opened the door to get out, Dean told him to wait.

"Can we do this on Friday?"

"Sure."

"My house. Seven. I'll pick you up."

"Okay."

"Hey Cas?"

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't joking on Friday."

And he leaned over and kissed Castiel. Cas was surprised. But then he returned it. There weren't any fireworks, like in the movies, but he felt amazing. Above the clouds. He was on top of the world.

And then it was over. And he was upstairs, in his apartment watching TV. But all he could think about was the kiss, and how Dean wasn't joking on Friday.


	6. January nineteenth, 2000

Things were good. Cas loved Dean, Dean loved Castiel, and they kissed and smiled and laughed and watched movies on Deans couch. Everything was amazing. Beautiful. Perfect.

And on Friday, Cas stayed over and took Dean's room, and despite Castiel's protests, Dean slept on the couch.

"I can't let my angel take the worst seat in the house," He told Cas while they were arguing over who should sleep upstairs. "You deserve to be treated like a prince and no less."

Dean won in the end, and Cas reluctantly climbed the stairs to the bedroom. He thought he heard someone scream in early morning, but he wasn't sure. He was too tired to investigate. For all he knew it was an air vent.

He woke up at around seven. Cas stepped quietly down the stairs, thinking that the Winchesters' were still asleep. He stepped along the edges so the steps wouldn't creak, and used the wall for balance, not the wobbling hand rail. It was all for nothing, in the end.

"Hey Castiel." Sam said.

Cas jumped.

"Sam! What are you doing here?!"

"I live here."

"I know, I mean-"

"Where's Dean?"

"Yeah."

"He went out to fix up his car. He said the heating was ruined and he didn't want you to get cold."

Cas blushed. "He didn't have to do that."

"I know Cas. Just let him. He feels important when he can do things for other people. Like he matters."

"How old are you Sam?"

"Why?"

"Because you speak like an adult. You notice things in people that I can't."

"If you mean Dean I've been living with him for my whole life." He sighed. "I'm sixteen."

Cas walked away from Sam and towards the window. He watched Dean tinker on the impala, opening the vents from the drivers seat or jumping out and peering down the hood. He really loved that car.

Cas stared for a while. He liked the way that Dean would wipe his brow, or that look he got as he scrunched up his eyes and concentrated. He smiled.

Five minutes. That's all he gave himself. Then he turned away from the window. He shouldn't look like that. It wasn't right. Hardly human, like watching an animal in a cage.

His eyes fell to the pictures on the bookshelf beside the TV. They were childhood memories. There was one of Dean and Sam, arms around each other, smiling. One had a laughing woman with her arm around a man. But the ones on the end were the most interesting.

Two family portraits. The last one had the laughing woman again, this time holding a baby. Beside her the same smiling man from before, and what must have been a four year old dean. They all looked so happy, and Cas wondered what had happened to break them apart, to take away those smiling faces. 'Too philosophical.' He thought. 'I should just observe.'

The other picture had fewer smiles. There was a new woman, and she wasn't laughing. The man was the same, and he must have been Deans father. Dean was older. Not only in age, but you could see it in his eyes. He could only have been twelve or thirteen. There was Sammy, too, beside Dean, standing a little awkwardly. He was probably eight. And in between them, holding their hands, was a baby. Not a newborn, but a baby. A little boy standing by himself in what was obviously a family picture meant the obvious: Sam and Dean had a little brother. And Cas had no idea who he was.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Who's this?"

"Oh," Sam frowned. "That's Adam."

"Where is he now? He doesn't live with you, obviously."

"Dean didn't tell you?"

"No?"

"Adam died in a car accident with our father five years ago. Adams dead."

Dean chose the poorest moment to walk in to the room.

"Cas, what's wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you had a brother. That he died. That your father was dead."

Dean paled. He was terrified. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"It's none of your business."

"But I thought you told me shit like that."

"I don't tell you everything Cas."

"Dean, what was so special about Adam anyway? You've got Sam."

Sam stared at Castiel, and Dean was obviously hurt.

"You don't understand. Who have you lost?!"

"My mother, Dean! Do you even care about anyone besides yourself?!"

"Well at least she didn't die because of you, Cas!"

"Dean, I've had enough."

"Then get out of my house."

And Cas left. He left the door open too. And Sam closed it, but not before Castiel heard Dean scream and run up the stairs. Cas had finished it. Ended it. It was over.


End file.
